Cobb is After Ivan Braginski
by Kat Wink
Summary: America comes home. Russia has sunflower boxers. They both get drunk. Things are not as they seem. Russia/America.


Headcanon (for this one-shot only, my headcanons change often)

*Russia's neck is sensitive, similar to Italy's curl

…

America liked his couch. It was always there for him when he didn't want to trudge the extra steps to his bed after a long day. He had had the same one for centuries, and it had held up surprisingly well, though it groaned whenever someone sat on it. To a country, whose life was always changing, something that stayed the same was comforting.

So when America flopped down, he expected to feel threadbare fabric and pillows he had borrowed (read: stolen) from Iggybrows.

He did not expect, however, for two arms to wrap around his middle and pull him close.

"AAAAH!" America screamed sounding higher-pitched than he would have liked to admit later.

"Don't be scared comrade Alfred." Oh god. Only one guy he knew addressed others as "comrade".

"Jesus Christ on a bike, what're you doing here, Russia?" America started as he registered Russia's words.

"How do you know my real name?!"

"I stole your file," Russia giggled, looking extremely happy.

"What file? There's no file on me!" It was true. Nobody was allowed to keep information on the country personifications, even their governments were sworn to secrecy. Russia just giggled.

"I stole the file from your miiiiiiind!" That sent him into another round of laughter. "Ah, it's a joke, Alfred, from Inception. American movies try to be so profound, da?" As the Russian laughed hysterically on his couch, America realized Russia was only in his boxers (the ones with sunflowers on them, of course.). The teen blushed fiercely.

"Russia, are you drunk?"

"Noooooo," Russia stopped. "Wait, let me think." He looked up, as if the answer would be written there. "Daaaaaa!" He sang, nodding his head for emphasis.

America quickly surveyed the situation. A drunken Russian was splayed on his couch in his underwear. America blushed again as rater perverted thoughts came to mind.

"Do you have any vodka?" America blinked. "I ran out. Do you have some?" Russia pulled out an empty bottle from his boxers (_Go away bad thoughts! Go away I say!_) and waved it around.

"Um…" America doubted he had any, but went to the freezer anyway. Among the stacks of frozen burgers and fries, there sat a half-full bottle. America vaguely remembered someone taking it out and slamming it on the table during one of America's parties.

"No party is complete without booze!" They had yelled.

America threw the bottle at Russia, trying to knock him out so he wouldn't have to deal with him.

Russia caught it. "Thank you!" He hummed.

America winced. Even when drunk, the guy had reflexes.

Russia took a long drink, and seemed unaffected by it. America wondered how much "Russian water" the man had drank to get him to his current state, and imagined his liver's state of craptasticality. Russia held out the bottle out to America.

"Want some?"

…

Confession time: America was a lightweight. He was fully aware of this fact, and whenever he traveled to a country where he could legally drink he steered clear. That's why he set the drinking age so high in his home, so he could avoid making an ass of himself by claiming he was merely following the law. But now, he reasoned, he was at his own house, and Russia surely wouldn't remember anything. So America seized the vodka and downed a huge swig.

Oh, crap. Well, that was fast. Yay, America's drunk. Please cover your vital regions now.

America turned to Russia with a sloppy grin. The bottle clattered to the floor when America leaped at the other man, smashing his lips on Russia's. He immediately responded, kissing back forcefully. America tried to deepen it further, but Russia smirked and kept his mouth tightly closed. America responded by ripping off his scarf. Russia gasped and America didn't spare a moment. He pushed the taller man onto the couch and unbuttoned his shirt—

"AMERICA, WAKE THE BLOODY HELL UP!"

"YOU'LL NEVER DEFEAT ME!" America screamed, bolting up from his chair and raising his fists. England just facepalmed.

"America, you've been asleep throughout the whole meeting. It's over, try to stay awake next time." America blushed hotly when England left, but suddenly felt a tug in his wrist. He looked down and squeaked, there was a needle! He followed the tube attached to him until his eyes met Russia's, who had a peculiar machine on the floor and a needle in his arm as well.

"Like it? I got the idea from that American movie, Inception." Russia grinned.

"You're a very awkward kisser, da?"

…

Author's Note: What the…I don't even know. Something I whipped up in thirty minutes and my friend forced me to finish it and publish it. Sorry about the fail kiss scene, I can't write kissing. Kate, TEACH ME HOW!

…I should be doing homework ಠ_ಠ.

It's really hot right now. What the hell, it's October. This heat is making my brain crank out crazy shit that makes no sense. Welp, enjoy my brain excrement.


End file.
